


Breath, Step, Click

by rodabonor



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Gun Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Pining, Post-Episode: s02e07 Yakimono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15763956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rodabonor/pseuds/rodabonor
Summary: “If I’m not the ripper, you murder an innocent man.”“Do you feel like an innocent man right now?”A beat of silence. “No.”“I wouldn’t either if I were you.”Hannibal thinks about Will pointing a gun to his head after his release from prison. He imagines it playing out differently.





	Breath, Step, Click

The cogs in Hannibal’s head turned and kept on turning. With every turn, he saw Will: the flurry of his soft curls, the hard set of his jaw, the sharpened edges to his disposition. The man Hannibal sent to prison was not the man that came back. Will had been stripped down to raw material, and Hannibal was nearly overwhelmed with the possibilities that lay ahead. 

Awake in his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, he remembered the click of Will’s gun right next to his ear. Will’s heavy breathing as he surged forward, the fierce whisper of his voice when Hannibal had asked how killing him might feel.

_“Righteous.”_

_Breath. Step. Click._

The skin on the back of Hannibal’s neck prickled, as though he had something snapping at his heels. He remembered the gun pointed steadily at him, the quivering thrill of it, and tried, briefly, to imagine what it might have been like if the cold barrel had been digging into his cheek. A point of contact between himself and Will. Connected through violence, as they were supposed to be. Steel and skin and the iron taste of danger.

Hannibal shifted. The slight pressure between his legs was unmistakable; neither unexpected nor surprising, even though he had never thought of Will this way before. He had learned to adjust quickly to the twists and turns of their involvement and supposed it might be viewed as a natural progression. In some ways, it was exciting to know that Will could reach him like this, that he could pluck every string on Hannibal’s emotional range. There was nothing Hannibal could not feel for him, and that notion held a curious appeal.

Almost experimentally, Hannibal let his hand slide over his belly and down underneath his pajama bottoms until he could feel the outline of his erection through his underwear. His hand seemed cold compared to the inviting warmth gathered in the juncture of his thighs. Already there was a damp spot where the tip of his cock strained against the fabric. 

An image came to him with startling clarity. Will’s gun pushing into his cheek, Hannibal’s head turning. The frigid kiss of the hard barrel on his mouth. His lips parting for the intrusion while Will’s finger still trembled on the trigger. 

Hannibal felt his cock jump against his palm. His own arousal aroused him, making the still images in his head twitch to life. What would Will’s face look like? So often it held a look of despair and longing, like he was mourning the loss of something he’d never even had. He could have it if he’d only ask. If things had been handled differently on both their ends, perhaps. 

Not that Hannibal was unable to wait. It was unthinkable to him that his desires could not echo completely within the maze of Will’s mind, given time and influence.

Feeling his arousal climb to need, Hannibal turned on the lights. The dark was a familiar place to him, but in this particular context, it felt too much like hiding. He folded the covers on his bed back, took his pajamas and underwear off and grabbed lubrication from his nightstand. Then he got back in bed and emptied his head of everything that wasn’t Will and steel and skin, the blood-like taste of imminent danger.

Closing his eyes, Hannibal saw Will draw a quick breath before he removed the gun from his mouth. He looked at Hannibal with confusion written over the anger in his face. But his eyes were searching, alight with a spark of intrigue that he could never truly conceal in the face of a mystery, no matter how morally offensive he found it. 

He looked until something solidified in his eyes. Then he gestured with the gun for Hannibal to kneel. And Hannibal did.

“Don’t speak,” Will said. The threat was present in the wielded gun; he didn’t have to verbalize it. A warm, calloused hand reached out to cup Hannibal’s jaw and Will’s thumb swiped over his mouth, slowly and a tad hesitantly. Hannibal opened his mouth to touch the tip of his tongue to Will’s thumb, closing his lips around it to give it a gentle suck, letting his tongue swirl around it in an evocative circle. 

Will gasped almost inaudibly and yanked his hand away like he’d been bitten, though Hannibal had been mindful of his teeth. He looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but then he just started unbuckling his belt. As he did, he lowered the gun, but he didn’t switch the safety on. 

Will brought his swelling cock out of his pants and Hannibal was oddly touched by it, by the softness that lingered there, the flushed skin that he knew would be silky to the touch and the nest of dark pubic hair. Will didn’t let him look for long. He grabbed Hannibal’s hair and pulled him towards his crotch until Hannibal sucked the tip of his cock into his mouth. Will stumbled on a quick breath and his hips jerked forward, a quick spasm with no thought behind it. Nobody would have touched Will this way in a long time. Nobody would have touched him at all in prison, really, aside from what protocol demanded. And those touches would have been laden with apprehension and fear.

Hannibal let more of the thick length slide into his mouth. Will groaned, and then groaned again as he realized Hannibal would take him all the way, past the resistance at the back of his throat, until Will had no more to give. 

In his bed, Hannibal grabbed his own hair and imagined Will’s hand instead of his own. Then he stroked over his lips with his free hand and slid two of his fingers inside his mouth. He sucked them leisurely while imagining Will’s cock gliding over his tongue, filling the empty hollows of his mouth. Hannibal had never done this for anyone before, but he could imagine it. The marble-like smoothness of soft skin, the firmness, the warmth, the way his eyes would be stung by tears when he took Will deep and the way saliva would gather and make lewd little squelching noises as he let himself be used. Will would be so beautiful, even through the blurred lens of his vision. Quiet, tight fury, longing and confusion, all of his attention singularly focused on Hannibal.

Increasingly aware of his own neglected erection, Hannibal imagined reaching between his own legs as he was sucking Will, and Will clicking his tongue like he was correcting a pet. 

“No,” Will said. “Hands on the floor in front of you.”

Hannibal put them there and Will stepped on his right hand, pinning it flat to the floor.

“You wanted me to embrace my nature,” Will reminded him, voice leaning on the first word of the sentence. _You_ wanted me to embrace my nature. Implicitly: this is _your_ doing. “I had an urge and I followed it. Doctor’s orders, right?”

Hannibal didn’t answer because his mouth was occupied, and Will had told him not to speak in any case. His cock throbbed, hot and pulsing like a wound, in his head as well as outside of it. If Will would permit him pleasure, it would come at some cost. Hannibal remembered the way he had turned his face away from Will’s gun, eyes closed, still like prey caught in a predator’s line of sight. He remembered how it had appeased Will, at least for the moment. A sign of submission, acknowledging the threat Will posed.

With this in mind, Hannibal imagined Will stepping away from him, removing his boot and his cock until Hannibal was left with nothing but reddened lips and a filthy rose print on his hand. Before Hannibal could inquire, Will placed his foot in the center of Hannibal’s chest and willed him to get down on his back. It wasn’t a kick; more of an insistent pressure. It suited them both better. 

Will gazed down at him, chest heaving with labored breathing, gun still in his hand. Hannibal’s gaze drifted there. Will caught it drifting.

“Don’t you want to know how it ends?” Hannibal asked. 

“I know how it ends.” Will’s hand tightened around the gun. “How I want it to end.”

“If I’m not the ripper, you murder an innocent man.”

“Do you feel like an innocent man right now?”

A beat of silence. “No.” 

“I wouldn’t either if I were you.” Will let his foot move down to Hannibal’s crotch, nudging it almost curiously, even as a spark of rage remained locked behind his eyes. “But then we both know what you are.”

“I could say the same of you.”

“No. You couldn’t.”

Will followed the shape of his erection with the tip of his shoe, applying a fair amount of pressure. Then he leaned more of his weight into it, sending a thrill up and down Hannibal’s spine. He bucked automatically up against the firm weight of Will’s foot and Will flinched, but there was a subtle shift in his face that betrayed his arousal. 

“Neither of us is innocent,” Hannibal said. “Don’t deny yourself. Not with this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Hannibal looked up at Will briefly. “You may tell me what to do. If you’re so inclined.”

Will swallowed. His jaw was clenched. It had never truly unclenched since he got there, and it pulled his face taut. For a moment, Hannibal thought he might step down harder, with the intention to harm, but he didn’t. He removed his foot altogether and drew a deep breath, eyes only faintly clouded with lingering lust.

“Touch yourself.” 

In his bed, Hannibal slicked his palm and trailed his fingers down to his cock, teasing the head with his thumb. He drew a quick breath and very nearly flinched. He was aroused to the point where sensitivity blurred into pain. Behind closed eyes, he saw Will reaching between his own legs to touch himself, and it was almost enough, almost too much, picturing himself sprawled on his back with Will hunched forward and towering over him like something out of a nightmare.

Squeezing firmer around his cock, Hannibal started stroking himself with more intent. He imagined his own breathing matching Will’s, the dense silence that would fill with their sounds of pleasure. They’d never shared anything like this before. Will would still be wet and warm from Hannibal’s mouth and it would be good for him. It would be good for Hannibal too, to see him like this, arguably vulnerable, in spite of everything.

“Get back up here,” Will panted. “On your knees, come here.”

Hannibal shuffled back onto his knees and turned his face up, expecting Will to want to finish in his mouth. Instead, there was the familiar sound of Will surging forward.

_Breath. Step._

No _click._ Only Will’s disjointed moans as he came, spilling warm and wet all over Hannibal’s face. Will was so tightly wound that his release gripped him like a seizure, just as fitful and unpredictable. His moans were like sounds of pain. As he shook apart, his cock pushed against Hannibal’s parted lips, and Hannibal caught a few drops on his tongue. 

The mere idea of this pushed Hannibal over the edge. He came, hips lifting slightly off of the bed, breaths coming quick and irregular. For a few, fleeting seconds, there was nothing but pulsing arousal and the electric aftershocks of it. Then everything was quiet and dark.

Hannibal realized he had his eyes closed. He opened them. Looking down at himself, he saw his own come spattered over his stomach and dripping down his fingers. He felt its cooling wetness and saw the faint outline of Will in his head. He waited for the click of his gun, but apparently he couldn’t or wouldn’t imagine Will wanting to shoot him after something like that.

“Don’t speak,” Will said again, voice weak and thin this time, retreating from him. Hannibal didn’t speak. He watched Will tuck himself back into his pants, gaze downturned, before he switched on the safety on his gun. He could almost feel the tightness on his skin from where Will’s come was drying. And then, without another word, Will slid back into the darkness, leaving an empty, blank spot behind.

It was merely the ghost of a past departure, but it was a departure Hannibal felt keenly all the same. He lay still and quiet for a moment, clearing his head of his fantasy. What had seemed plausible moments ago now seemed increasingly implausible. Furthermore, it seemed undesirable, put in the harsh light of reality. He didn’t let himself ponder it for very long.

Hannibal cleaned up, got dressed for bed again and turned off the lights, sliding back in among the shadows. The dark of his ceiling was like the dark behind his eyelids. He could still see the faint negative of Will there. He wasn’t sure whether his eyes were opened or closed, and told himself it didn’t truly matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! More of my Hannigram stuff can be found on my [tumblr](http://beatricenius.tumblr.com/) and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/beatricenius)


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